


Makeup

by Tabbynerdicat



Series: Stripesverse [19]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier
Genre: Depression, Homophobic Language, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, but also fluff, gay demons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22171342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabbynerdicat/pseuds/Tabbynerdicat
Summary: Dark has always liked to wear makeup, but he doesn't usually let anyone see it. And then suddenly, Anti is opening the door, and his entire world starts to crumble.
Relationships: Darkiplier/Antisepticeye
Series: Stripesverse [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598143
Comments: 3
Kudos: 102





	Makeup

Sitting in front of the mirror, his cold grey skin reflected back so that he could see the cost of his failures, painting across his eyelids with vibrant hues like he'd always loved to do. But the lights were dimmed, the doors were locked- his chest tingled and sank with the ache of guilt he'd never been able to shake. It felt… forbidden. _Wrong._ He didn't know what he'd do if the others found out.

Cruel, hurtful words cascaded through his mind- _faggot, slut, tranny_ \- he felt his eyes unwittingly fill with tears, the absence of a beating heart doing nothing to absolve him from the weight of his trauma.

 _No_.

He blinked them back, staring indifferently at his reflection. Even after all those decades… they still pained him, didn't they? Those who had mocked him, called him names, belittled him in his youth? Why did they still hurt, when Dark hardly had the capacity to feel anymore?

"Darky, why've ye got the lights off?"

His gasp was frighteningly audible- the lights flickered back to full intensity and he froze, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own shame. Anti was standing there, watching him, and suddenly he was seventeen again. Caught experimenting in his room alone at night, thrown around by people he'd thought he could trust, just for wanting to feel pretty. Slandered, called _vicious_ names, tossed from lover to lover as they used and abused him because he'd _let_ them hurt him. He'd welcomed it. His heart was gripped with a ferocious warmth and he choked, feeling his cheeks and ears burning bright red.

Damien let out a conflicted, horrified sob.

Anti immediately figured out that something was wrong- he frowned, placing his hand gently on Dark's shoulder, worried for the man who'd saved him so many times before, cupping his chin and searching his eyes. They were bright, teary blue- and Dark said nothing.

His face was done up and fancy, eyelids glittering green, framed with the same simple eyeliner he often wore to meetings. But it was… _different_. More neat. More _careful_ … Dark had cared a lot more about applying this than he had about his appearance on any regular day. That much was certain.

"Green's not your colour," Anti told him unabashedly, contemplating the confused crease of Dark's brows. "I mean, no offense, but it makes ye look peaky… Try blue instead."

Dark's gaze wavered, the world falling into chaos around him. Wasn't Anti going to get upset? Spit at him in distaste and say that he wasn't the man he loved? Or was he lying through his teeth, unsure of what to do? Why would Anti love him like _this_? Nobody had _ever_ loved this side of him…

"Or an indigo," Anti continued, tracing the edge of Dark's handiwork, letting it come away on his finger. "It'll suit ye much better-"

"I…" Damien uttered breathlessly, something in his chest lurching. "I d-don't… I _shouldn't_ …"

Wasn't that what he wanted to hear?

"Oh…" Anti sighed, catching on to what seemed to be happening. In a much softer tone, he murmured sweet little reassurances, running a hand through his lover's hair in an effort to calm him down. He pressed kisses to Damien's cheek, occasionally glancing into the mirror, and soon Damien's erratic breathing began to slow.

"I'm s-sorry…" Damien whispered, staring at his lap as though he were ashamed. "I'm so s- _sorry_ …"

"I know," Anti soothed. "Ye wanna talk about it?"

"No..." Damien trailed off, looking apologetically into Anti's worried eyes. "I… I just-”

"It's okay, Dami, I've got ye…" Anti finished. He wrapped his arms around him, letting him bury his face in Anti's chest, now consciously aware of just how many tears he was crying. Anti set the small box of makeup aside, tugging Damien into his lap, and the bigger man let out a shudder.

"You… you're really okay w-with… with _this_?"

Anti _really_ didn't like the amount of venom in Damien's tone.

"I think ye look pretty without it," Anti started, smiling appreciatively, though Damien couldn't see it. "But I also think ye should do what makes ye happy. That's what you'd say to me, isn't it?"

It was. But… but Damien couldn't _see_ it that way.

"I just… want to hold you… is that alright?"

"It's perfect, Dami…" Anti reasoned, laying them both down on the bed. "Just like you… I don't think you'll ever know how pretty ye really are. Y'know how I know? 'Cause every time I see ye, I wanna touch your hair, or kiss your cheek, or tug on your clothes… ye look so beautiful that sometimes I think ye ain't even real…"

Damien chuckled feebly into Anti's chest, though he didn't raise his head.

"It's all s-so… so _silly_. Like I'm w-worried you'll leave me for who I am, what I like… _who_ I like. It's… such a s-stupid problem, isn't it?"

"It's real to you," Anti supplied, kissing Damien's forehead. "An' that's real enough for me… but I hope ye realise I'm not gonna stop wantin' ye, just for wearin' makeup. Anyone who'd do that doesn't deserve ye, y'know? You asked me to marry ye, Darky, I promise… I'm not goin' _anywhere_ …"

Sometimes, words didn't need to be expressed for the problem to feel lighter. Less confined, the air more… more _breathable_. Damien's eyes were scrunched tightly shut, his lips parted over the fabric of Anti's shirt, breathing in Anti's oddly intriguing scent until his chest had calmed and stilled. He felt impossibly content, while even he could tell that his mind was tense. Anti's fingers ran softly through his hair, humming, his voice so sweet… Maybe this really wasn't so-

_"That right, you fuckin' queer? Just gonna run off to mommy and daddy like the little faggot you are?!"_

"Go blow your cousin, you sack of _shit_!" Celine shouted angrily, the scene manifesting in Damien's mind as though he was living it again. He was small, frail- ten, eleven years old? The names, the bullies- all of the details escaped him. The only reality was Celine, her bright young face turning sad as she looked at him. Had she known even then what Damien would grow up to be? What he'd grow to _become_? Had she figured it out long before he had, just like she had with the matter of his sexuality?

Something in those chilling brown eyes only reminded him of her fate. Cold, frozen, drifting forever in a lake of regret until he took her out and-

"Are you alright?"

He was sniffling, wasn't he? God, that was _right_ … He'd repressed his childhood memories so much that they were now hitting him like a punch to the nose. It was all so much more pitiful, watching with his wisened eyes.

"I'll be f-fine…" he remembered uttering, though it was nothing but a deceitful lie. He hadn't wanted her to worry- or maybe, he hadn't wanted to hear those words come out of her mouth. Maybe he just didn't want his parents to see him, think of him as queer- because that _wasn't_ a good term. Why would it be, when it was called his way so hatefully?

Damien didn't know what he'd truly been thinking that day. But it had hurt. It had hurt, and hurt, and _hurt_ … and it was still hurting, wasn't it?

"Pucker up!" Celine chirped, squishing Damien's cheeks together with her small palms. She was younger- her dress was noticeably more plain, her hair a little curlier than before. They were eight, or nine… they were playing with their mother's makeup. 

"Do you want red or pink?"

"Wred pwease!"

Celine giggled to herself, uncapping their mother's ruby red lipstick and smearing it as cleanly as she could across Damien's lips. She was messy, and it was hardly perfect- but he beamed at her all the same. He remembered feeling elated, _excited_ , so proud of himself for figuring out how to open the blush. In hindsight he was ghastly, but at the time, he'd thought himself to be beautiful.

"Now the eyeshadow!" Damien urged, picking up a blue pigment their mother hadn't ever used, voice so much more chipper than he ever remembered. What had happened? When had he really started to become dissatisfied with the man he was supposed to be? 

"This one!"

"Are you sure?" Celine asked him, showing him a deeper blue. "I think this one is prettier."

"Both," Damien grinned in response. "Then I'll be double pretty!"

He couldn't choke on a memory- he could only watch further as his naivety grew all the more obvious. He felt sick to his stomach- he felt _violent_. He felt like he could wring the neck of the smiling little boy he saw in that mirror, just to spare him the life he would choose. And yet-

He felt _protective_. He wanted to shelter that child, he wanted to hold him close and cherish him, and _never_ let his memory be tainted… he was a monster, wasn't he? What kind of man would loathe his being so greatly as to murder his past self?

Celine chuckled, conceding and gesturing for Damien to close his eyes. She was blissfully unaware of the torment of Damien's adult mind, still stuck in the wondrous fairytale that had made up their childhoods. How Damien wished he could have stayed like that forever... 

"You sure will-"

"Damien? Celine? Thank goodness, I've been looking all over for-"

Their mother let out a horrified gasp, but at the time, neither child had understood why. They were proud, happy, beaming with their faces full of makeup- surely their parents would be proud of them? Looking back, Damien could have shouted. He could have cursed at the walls, berating himself for his own ignorance. How could he have been so foolish, even for a child? Everyone knew that _boys_ didn't play with makeup. Not unless they were crossdressers, or prostitutes, or-

_"Faggot!"_

The pain felt even worse the second time- it _ached_ , ghosting all through him, the psychological scarring clearly so much more effective than the physical. Even though this incident had wrought him so much despair- even if it had resulted in his broken leg, his weakness, his loss of reputation… none of that mattered now, did it? Not when he'd ended up _here_ , in a world where nothing made even an ounce of logical sense. Nobody cared whether he was an electorate, whether he had wealthy parents or a poverty-stricken family, whether or not he sucked cock over in the far side of campus to soothe his need to be _needed_. 

Nobody _cared_ … nobody but him. Why? _Why_?

He was shoved to the ground, face splitting on the asphalt as his assaulters started landing kicks to his hips, his chest, his ribs- he _screamed_ , but he was gagged with a sock, his knee seized up in pain, his mouth washed with the horrid taste of bile. He choked, but they wouldn't stop- it was what he deserved, wasn't it? He shouldn't have let himself be _caught_. He hardly dared to imagine what the attackers had done to the other boy already, the one Damien had been kissing teasingly in the library before dawn. He'd never seen that other man again- and to this day, he still _hoped_ the worst hadn't come to pass. 

Death was a common penalty for people like him, and it had used to be something he feared. Now… _now_ , it seemed that if he'd let himself be arrested and tried for his crimes against religion all those years ago, he might not be trapped here. Trapped in the corpse of the one who'd rescued him from those awful men, who'd nursed him back to health in the safety of their dorm room despite all of the outside scrutiny...

"You don't talk much, do you?" Damien had asked, watching as they shook their head 'no'. They'd set his broken leg, they'd wrapped gauze around his flesh wounds, and they'd even offered to let Damien stay for as long as he needed to. They'd been worried about him- Damien hadn't even felt like he'd be missed for so long… when had it all started? Perhaps it would have been clearer to him in that moment. A lost 23-year-old, trying to get through his degree without falling short and collapsing in the pain of existing. His sister didn't speak to him anymore- Mark had forgotten him, and William was fighting in the wars, and… and this new friend was the last one he still had.

He'd _ruined_ them.

"You didn't ruin them, Damien… _hm_. Well, not on _purpose_..."

His fists clenched immediately, digging into the soft flesh of his lover's stomach as he was startled awake. The lights were bright enough to catch Anti's weary face in the dark, and Damien let out a shuddering breath, an apology at the tip of his tongue. That's _right_ … it was all in his head, wasn't it? He could see the remnant of the green, glittery makeup that had rubbed off on Anti's shirt. It was stinging in his eyes, his throat, his ears ringing with a deafening cacophony of-

" _No_."

Anti chided him with exasperation in his tone, though he didn't seem annoyed. "No, Dami, just… ye don't have to let it rip you apart like that, okay? I don't know what you're goin' through but I know it ain't easy… if there's somethin' I can-"

"A-Anti, _no_ , it's…" Damien swallowed, tears still streaming down his cheeks. "It's m-my own problem… I shouldn't be burdening you with it…"

The Actor's voice still rang tauntingly in his ears, the pain of his broken limb that had never fully healed still aching through his psyche, the wound still resonating within his very soul. He hadn't recovered, had he? He hadn't moved on… but how _could_ he?

Until…

"Dami… remember when ye asked me if we'd ever get married?" Anti asked him, softly whispering into Damien's ear. "An' we agreed we would… it's not about the show for me, Darky. It's about _bein_ ' there for each other, an' even if ye can't tell me what's wrong, I want ye to _tell me_ how to help ye… What is it ye need?"

"Acceptance," Damien croaked, the word sounding pretentious in his mind. "But that's _pathetic_ of me, Anti, I don't _need_ acceptance… not from you, nor the others, nor any sorry fool I've left to turn in their graves… I know that you love me. I _know_ …"

"But _you_ don't love you, do ye?" Anti murmured. And Damien… oh, he knew Anti was right. He'd hated himself and everything he stood for from the moment he learned it was wrong to like makeup. From the moment he'd learned that boys don't have crushes on other boys, from the _moment_ he'd been beaten bloody for daring to be something different.

And he knew, he'd seen it all along… it had seemed irreversible. Like something he'd live with forever, the internalised guilt and fear of expression he'd inflicted upon himself all those years ago… oh, he was a fool, wasn't he?

A _fool_ …

"I've got an idea," Anti voiced, breaking Damien out of his self-deprecating trance. He gestured to Damien's makeup bag, gently prying him from his front as he rose to a sitting position. One arm still wrapped cozily around Damien's waist, he pulled out the shades of eyeshadow Damien had been experimenting with earlier, laying out the various hues before them.

"Do _me…_ oh, not like _that_ , you moron… do _my_ makeup."

Damien blinked, uncertain, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But… _why_? How would that help me with-?"

"All your life you've been the only one, haven't ye?" Anti challenged him, green eyes flashing with a kind of determination Damien didn't often see. "That's why ye panicked before… you've never been around anyone else that likes to wear it, right? Made ye feel insecure?"

"I…" Damien swallowed, uncomfortable with just how close Anti had come to the truth. "I… suppose that's… part of it…"

Anti smiled reassuringly, though there was smugness in his tone. "Knew it… I felt the same way about… well, the cutting thing. But that's a bad example- Dami, I want ye to do my makeup. Please?"

"But why would you _want_ that?" Damien asked, his voice short with regressed and regretful loathing. "You haven't worn makeup a day in your life, I don't want you to pressure yourself to-"

" _Hey_ ," Anti interrupted, placing a warning hand on Damien's wrist, noticing he was growing more tense by the second. "Dami, _please_ … hear me out, alright? I wanna do this with you. I don't want ye to _have_ to be the only one you trust with this. I thought, maybe if we did this together, it'd become… y'know, an 'us' thing. And ye wouldn't have to feel so down about it anymore… I _promise_ ye, I'm not pushing myself past my boundaries or anythin', I just…"

He let out a winded, sorrowful sigh. "I hate seeing ye like that… and if all I can do to help ye is take the shamefulness away from the makeup, _damn right_ I'm gonna do it. Ye deserve to do what makes ye feel good without havin' to worry what the others will think. So you and me? Let's do it together. _Fuck_ them an' their prejudice, they're just jealous they're not as pretty and creative as you are… and I can tell ye, the green might not suit _you_ , but…"

Anti held up the most vibrant of the green hues against his skin, raising an eyebrow at the surprised face of his lover.

"Looks nice on me, doesn't it?"

Damien's eyes flashed with the first sign of mirth he'd felt all night. He shuffled closer, taking Anti's hand in his own, and met his eyes with a new kind of warmth. The comforting, subtle kind… it was the best kind he'd ever experienced.

"I... suppose we should test that theory in practice…"


End file.
